


In Every Corner

by hatrickane (dandelionwhiskey)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 18:45:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14858222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelionwhiskey/pseuds/hatrickane
Summary: “We need you to infiltrate the NHL as a newly drafted player, gather as much intel as possible, and keep an eye on your teammates. Special Agent Kane will join you as your personal trainer and be your backup.”“Why me?” Jonny asked, as if his footage up on the screen wasn’t answer enough.“You can play,” said Kane. Jonny tried not to read bitterness into his voice.  “You’ll be believable up on the ice, might even get the team to playoffs.”Jonny bit his lip. “Which team?”(A Miss Congeniality AU.)





	In Every Corner

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the wonderful Reel 1988 challenge! Enjoy this Miss Congeniality AU that I force-fed fake dating to.  
> Thank you to [Rachel for her wicked beta work!](http://kaneoodle.tumblr.com)

Patrick Sharp is just about to round the corner in the locker room, towel casually thrown around his neck. He’s just finished his post-game workout and the pleasant ache in his muscles is just beginning to subside when he catches the the softest of whispers from the other side of the wall. He stutters to a stop, craning his neck forward to catch the salacious conversation. 

“Of course I’m worried about you,” comes a soft, fierce murmur. “This is dangerous stuff.”

Patrick Sharp blinks. It sounds like Kane, the new trainer that barely gives Sharpy the time of day. He leans in further. 

“I know,” comes the low, rumbling voice of Jonathan Toews. “But you have to let me do it.” 

His tone is totally foreign to Sharpy. It’s almost desperate, like they’re talking about something dire.

“You’re my partner, and we’re stuck with each other,” Kane says, and everything finally clicks into place. Unable to resist, Sharpy rounds the corner with his finger outstretched. 

“I  _ knew _ it,” he accuses. They’re sitting frozen on one of the benches, heads bowed together wide eyes on Sharpy. They exchange a quick glance and Kane is on his feet before Toews can stop him. 

“This isn’t what it looks like,” he says, voice low and even. He has his hand out like Sharpy is a horse he’s trying to tame. Sharpy slaps it away. 

“Oh, so you two aren’t canoodling in the locker room after a game?” Sharpy says, crossing his arms. Toews’ eyes are so wide and wary that Sharpy wonders if they’re going to pop right out of his skull. “Look, guys, calm down. Your secret is safe with me.” 

“This is serious,” Kane says in that same soothing tone. 

Sharpy has to stifle a smirk. “Do you guys think I’m some kind of asshole?” He pauses, considers his words. “Okay, I can be kind of an asshole. But not about this.” 

Toews is looking at Kane, now, deferring to him in an unexpected way. They both still look on edge, like Sharpy is going to run screaming out of the room at any moment. 

“We’ll have to transfer,” Toews says, and Kane sighs unhappily. Sharpy shakes his head. 

“Guys, come on,” he says. “Sure, it’ll be tough, but people will understand.”

Toews stares at him. “You’re suggesting we tell  _ more _ people? Are you insane?”

“What’s the problem?” Sharpy says, exasperated. “No one here will care that you’re gay.”

Kane looks over his shoulder at Toews, who meets his eyes steadily. They have a silent conversation, just twitching eyebrows at each other, and Sharpy is surprised he didn’t notice this little dynamic earlier. 

“You can tell some of the guys,” Kane says. Toews looks miserable. 

“Patrick,” he starts, but Kane shakes his head. 

“It’s about time we told some people,” Kane says. He’s not meeting Jonny’s very desperate eyes. Sharpy wonders if he poked at a larger issue in their relationship and almost feels bad, but then Toews nods sharply and stands up to shoulder in next to Kane. Their pinkies brush and Sharpy shakes his head; - these kids are so repressed. 

“So,” Sharpy says jovially, dropping his crossed arms. “What’s the story? Dating, married, fuck buddies?”

They exchange a quick glance. “Dating,” they say at the same time. 

“How long?” 

“Two years,” says Kane, and Sharpy gives a low whistle. 

“So, it’s the real deal, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Kane says, “it is.” 

///

“What the  _ fuck _ were you thinking?” Jonny snaps when they get back to his apartment. He throws his scarf and jacket down on the couch and turns on Patrick, who’s tugging his gloves off.

“What was I supposed to do, huh?” He says sourly. “He caught us.”

“So you tell him we’re gay? If that isn’t he most uninspired, cliché bullshit - now we have to come up with a whole new backstory.” 

Patrick rolls his eyes. “You’re a federal agent, Jonny, I think you can handle a little white lie.” 

“‘Little white lie,’ he says,” Jonny grumbles as he paces the living room floor. “Don’t you think this is going to garner some unwanted attention?”

Patrick shrugs as he flops down on the couch, propping his feet up. “Might make it easier, actually. We can get privacy when we want, don’t have to come up with reasons to talk to each other. Could be a blessing in disguise.” 

Jonny absolutely does not want to admit that Patrick has a point. “Will we have to be all… coupley?” He doesn’t mean for that to come out as sheepish as it does, but it’s too late. Patrick gives him an unreadable look.

“Is that going to be a problem for you?” He asks. Jonny stops pacing and really thinks about the question. He eyes Patrick for a moment, thinking about having to hold his hand or kiss his cheek or… he swallows. 

“I guess not,” he says. “I mean, it’s the job, right?”

Patrick breaks his gaze to look back at the TV he’d turned on while Jonny was thinking. “Yeah, we gotta do all kinds of crazy things, huh?”

“We’d better work out our new story,” Jonny says, resigned, and sits on the couch next to Patrick. “And call it in to headquarters.”

“We’re never going to hear the end of this one.”

///

The first time Probationary Agent Toews met Special Agent Kane, it didn’t go well. 

It didn’t have anything to do with his boyish looks, the easy, casual grin he threw at everyone who glanced at him, or his back talk during briefings. To Jonny, it didn’t seem as if Kane had to do any work at all in order to get showered in accolades. While Jonny poured over documents and briefings, Kane got applause for refilling the coffee maker. 

Jonny knew he had to earn his due before he could get the types of cases that Kane got. Those deep undercover, in-depth, covert operations that everyone expects out of working for the Federal Bureau of Investigation – those were the ones that Jonny wanted. But those were reserved for Special Agents, and he still had to prove his worth.

Until the fucking deputy director came up to him with a file in hand. 

“Toews,” he had said, dropping the file down onto his desk. “How would you like your first field assignment?”

That got him into an office with the Deputy Director, Special Agent Kane, and a huge screen showing his juniors hockey highlights. 

“We got a tip,” said the Director, “that someone is planning on assassinating this season’s winner of the Lady Byng Memorial Trophy.”

Jonny stared. “The NHL trophy. Why?”

“Don’t know,” said Kane. “Does it matter?”

“How do we know the threat is legitimate?” Toews asked the Director, ignoring Special Agent Kane and his cavalier attitude. He was slumped in his chair, leg jiggling as he rolled his eyes. It was entirely unprofessional and Jonny didn’t feel as if it was worth his attention. 

The Deputy Director gave him the rundown: the threat came from a well-known domestic terrorist organization hell-bent on destroying the camaraderie of organized American sports. They’d carried out their threats in the past, and this was the first time they’d gotten a tip ahead of one of their marks.

“We need you to infiltrate the NHL as a newly drafted player, gather as much intel as possible, and keep an eye on your teammates. Special Agent Kane will join you as your personal trainer and be your backup.”

“Why me?” Jonny asked, as if his footage up on the screen wasn’t answer enough.

“You can play,” said Kane. Jonny tried not to read bitterness into his voice.  “You’ll be believable up on the ice, might even get the team to playoffs.”

Jonny bit his lip. “Which team?”

///

“Fuck,” Jonny said after his third week of training. “I’m not getting any better.”

“I thought you used to be good,” Kane sighed. Jonny wanted to shove his stick right up the smug bastard’s ass. “You’d better step it up.”

“Fuck you. I don’t know what your problem is, Agent Kane, but I didn’t ask for this assignment. I’m doing my best.” 

“ _ Special _ Agent.” Kane nodded at the trainer. “Make him go again.” 

The whistle blew, and Jonny grit his teeth. 

///

The Blackhawks were wary at first; a no-name joining their roster and getting ice time right off the bat, but eventually they had to accept that Jonny had the chops. The team was filled with good-natured guys, and a few suspicious ones, but Jonny didn’t receive half the chirping he’d expected. They didn’t even question his ever-present trainer; eventually, they accepted him into the fold like he was one of them.

But still, Jonny had to fight. He had to earn his place on this team and with the bureau. On top of all that, he had to save a life, and he still had a long way to go. The first time he got a major hit on the ice, he stayed down way too long and got a minor for embellishment. The team wasn’t happy, but Ryan Kesler laughed all the way back to the blue line. 

Jonny was determined. He refused to let the sweat in his eyes block his goals. He would make Special Agent, and he’d tell that cocky Patrick Kane that anyone with enough drive and determination can do just as well as someone who gets handed everything in this world. 

They got an apartment in Chicago together and happily ignored each other at first. Kane passive-aggressively cleaned up after Jonny’s mess and Jonny pretended that he didn’t like it. It wasn’t until a few weeks in when Jonny offered a gruff thank you that Patrick first gave him a real smile. 

“I don’t know anything about you,” Jonny said one day while he half-heartedly tried to wash dishes. Patrick was watching him warily, probably planning to rewash them all when Jonny was done. 

“That’s probably better,” Patrick said evenly. “The less you know about the real me, the easier it is for you to stay undercover.” 

And damned if that didn’t make Jonny more curious. But he didn’t push - he was on this mission to learn, and do well, and get that promotion. So, he stayed out of Patrick’s business and kept his nose to the grindstone. 

He pulled a hamstring a few weeks in. Instead of going to the team trainer, he limped up to Patrick and explained what happened. The team watched, rapt, as Patrick helped Jonny up onto one of the massage tables and asked Jonny to pull his pants down.

It was the first time they’d seen Patrick actually do his job, and Jonny was trying not to show how nervous he was. But with the first touch of Patrick’s fingers to his thigh, all his fears melted away along with his muscle tension. 

Patrick stretched him expertly. He pinned Jonny’s knee back to his chest and ran strong knuckles along the tight skin of his thigh and Jonny couldn’t help but let out a small grunt of satisfaction. Patrick’s smirk was less than appreciated. 

“How did you know how to do that?” Jonny asked over dinner that night. Patrick raised an eyebrow at him. 

“I had to train for this operation, just like you,” he said. “How’s your leg?”

“Shut up,” Jonny said. “Let’s watch something.” 

“My choice.” 

That lead to quiet nights watching Netflix, to loud nights watching Hulu, to even going out to dinner together once in awhile.

It wasn’t until they found a lead, one that Patrick took point on, that things took a turn. He almost lead them both into a pretty bad trap - Jonny got caught on the way out and banged up his knee, almost compromising the whole mission and knocking him out of ice time for a few weeks. Patrick was mortified, apologetic, and honest with Jonny for the first time since they’d been paired up. 

“I played too, y’know,” he said around the ice pack pressed to his bruised cheek. 

“Hockey?” Jonny asked. His leg was propped up on the couch, bracketed in a cast. 

He nodded. “Played you once, a long time ago, in Toronto. Youth Classic, or something.” He chuckled, hesitant to meet Jonny’s eyes. “You kicked my ass. Thought you were going to take it all the way to the cup.” 

“Maybe I still will,” Jonny said mildly, “if I ever get back on the ice.” 

Patrick ducked his head, guilty, and Jonny shared the sentiment. There was Patrick Kane, bruised up on the couch, trying to give Jonny a compliment from twenty years ago after he’d botched an operation. The least Jonny could do was give the guy a break. 

“Youth Classic, huh?” Jonny pursed his lips thoughtfully. “2002?”

“Uh, yeah.” Patrick shifted his ice pack to the back of his head. 

“I remember a blonde kid,” Jonny said. “Curls poking out from under his helmet. Wouldn’t stop chewing on his mouth guard. He pulled off a near-perfect spin-o-rama.” 

“At twelve, huh?” Patrick asked lightly, but Jonny could hear the pride in his voice. 

“At twelve. Good hands. Wonder what happened to him.” 

“Probably never got that growth spurt he needed.” Patrick sighed and scratched idly at his knee. “Probably got real mad about that. Made some mistakes. Ended up in law enforcement to make up for those mistakes.” He raised his eyes to Jonny’s. “What do you think?” 

Jonny shrugged. “Sounds like a good guy to me.” 

Patrick’s face did something weird. It pinched up for a second, all furrowed eyebrows and tight lines, but then relaxed into something much more amused. “Maybe.” He tossed the controller at Jonny. “You pick the movie tonight.”

///

And now, four months into the operation, the Blackhawks are on track for the playoffs and Jonny has finally gotten his first lead. 

“I’m still not letting you go to that nightclub,” Patrick grumbles. “It’s way too dangerous, it could threaten the operation. Too easy to get made.”

“It’s not like I’m going to dance and get hammered,” Jonny says flatly. “There’s a lead here, we could stop this whole thing before it even happens.” 

Patrick’s arms are crossed tightly over his chest. He doesn’t look pleased. Jonny loathes that he has to wait for Patrick’s permission to take a piss, but he can’t let this opportunity slip through their fingers. Just as he opens his mouth to argue his point some more, Patrick holds up a hand. 

“Fine. But I’m going with you.”

Jonny presses his mouth into a thin, annoyed line. “My trainer, at the club?”

“Your  _ boyfriend _ ,” Patrick corrects, “remember?”

Jonny’s heart settles firmly in his stomach. This whole plan is unbelievably stupid. “I can’t believe you’re more worried about us checking out the nightclub than pretending to be a couple.”

“Oh, stop being so uptight,” Patrick grouses. “It’s like you think being gay is the worst thing in the world.”

Jonny softens. “I mean - of course I don’t think that,” he says. 

“I know,” Patrick says, tossing Jonny a black t-shirt. “Come on, suit up. We’ll find this guy.” 

///

The nightclub is dark and full, packed with damp, writhing bodies smeared with swaths of day-glo paint. The air smells like sweet alcohol and skin, some pop remix pumping through the speakers and making Jonny’s bones shake with the bass. 

It’s not his normal idea of a night out.

“Hey!” Sharpy emerges from the crowd and gathers Jonny and Patrick into a hug under each arm. “You guys made it, good. The guys got a table over there, they have glow-in-the-dark vodka!”

It’s clear that Sharpy has briefed some guys on the team about Jonny and Patrick, because they try just a little bit too hard to say hello to them, to be kind to them. In a weird way, Jonny kind of appreciates it. He manages to pretend to take a few bright blue shots of vodka while Patrick watches on, amused, his arm thrown over the back of the booth they’re crowded in.

It’s actually kind of fun.

But the mission comes first, of course, and Jonny is trying to balance listening to Seabrook’s stories with scanning the crowd for their contact. It’s crowded, a little too dark, and Patrick’s thigh is basically on top of his in the cramped booth. Jonny’s having trouble concentrating.

Suddenly, Patrick leans in, his hand falling on Jonny’s throat. He brushes his thumb across the dip of his collarbone and pulls him closer. “It’s time to dance,” Patrick says, eyes serious despite the small smile on his lips.

Jonny nods. That’s the signal; Patrick saw something they had to check out. The boys scoot out to let them go, murmuring encouragements, and maybe Jonny was wrong about this whole fake relationship thing. Patrick drags him out onto the dance floor and immediately presses in close to him, nosing along his ear.

“Spotted coming into the club two minutes ago,” Patrick says right into his ear. The music is just dull enough that he doesn’t have to shout, but loud enough that no one around them would hear. It’s actually a fairly smart cover, Jonny has to admit. 

Patrick’s actually dancing, too, his fingers resting against the small of Jonny’s back as they sway together. Jonny swallows and cards his fingers through Patrick’s hair, diving into his character the best he can. 

“What’s he wearing?” Jonny asks, eyes darting from Pat’s to behind him, around them, trying to take in the crowd. Sweat is starting to glisten on Patrick’s temple and Jonny thumbs it away. 

“Suit jacket, red tie,” Patrick says, and when he turns his head a glint of light reflects off his ear. Jonny narrows his eyes. 

“Are you bugged right now?”

Patrick sighs and pulls Jonny in closer, putting both his arms around his neck and letting their bodies align. It’s more intimate that Jonny would have preferred but he leans down to let Patrick talk in his ear anyway.

“Of course I fucking am, Toews. Doing this without backup would have been moronic.” 

“I thought you were my backup,” Jonny says, and Patrick actually laughs. It’s not sarcastic, or condescending, just a real laugh that somehow makes Jonny’s toes tingle. 

“I appreciate your confidence, but even I’m not that good.”

Jonny smirks and lets his muscles go looser, moving more fluidly to the music. Patrick gently guides them in a circle so they can survey the dance floor, eyes out for their mark. Jonny can’t even understand who would wear a suit coat in this club, it’s way too warm; Patrick’s skin is like a brand against his.

“Got him,” Jonny says, and Patrick immediately turns in his arms and plasters himself on Jonny’s front. In surprise, Jonny’s hands fall to Patrick’s hips, one arm winding around him to knuckle across his stomach. Patrick doesn’t protest. 

“Me, too,” Pat says, tilting his head back so his cheek brushes Jonny’s chin. “What’s our move?”

“Observation,” Jonny says. He can almost taste Patrick’s shampoo. “We see who he talks to, who he’s making deals with.” 

“Not like you to want to stay back,” Patrick chirps, and Jonny digs his nails into Patrick’s stomach. 

“Shut up, I’m trying to gather information.” 

“Hey, I’m not knocking the plan.” Patrick exaggerates a wiggle of his hips and Jonny pinches him in retaliation.

The mark takes his spot at a VIP table that’s elevated from the dance floor, which gives Patrick and Jonny a pretty decent vantage point of his dealings. It would, anyway, if it wasn’t getting too hot around them. Having Patrick this close is making Jonny sweat, the effort to stay in rhythm and look convincing completely overwhelming his senses. People might get suspicious if he doesn’t duck his head down to tuck into Patrick’s neck. They might notice it’s not real if he doesn’t thumb at Patrick’s waistband.

Patrick seems focused enough, though, falling into a steady pattern of rubbing his ass on Jonny’s front while keeping his gaze steadily forward. They watch the mark’s friends show up, surrounding him at his VIP table, and try to assess the situation.

“Do you recognize anyone from the file?” Patrick asks, breathless, his curls damp and pinned to his neck.

“Not yet,” Jonny says. He doesn’t mention that he’s having a difficult time paying attention. 

“Shit, he’s on the move,” Patrick says suddenly, unplastering himself from Jonny and grabbing his hands. “We have to follow him.”

“Now who’s getting too involved,” Jonny grumbles, but Patrick is dragging him through the crowd as if he didn’t hear the protest. Jonny keeps his head ducked, so no one catches his face, and follows Patrick’s weaving until a cool rush of air washes over them as they emerge from the throng of people. 

“Where’d he go?” Patrick murmurs, mostly to himself, but he drags Jonny toward the VIP area regardless. It’s too hasty, too rash, and Jonny tries to tug back on Patrick’s grip.

“We have to be more careful.” Jonny tugs harder. “ _ Patrick _ . Kane!”

Patrick ignores him, his eyes wild and fierce as he gazes around looking for the contact. His determination makes Jonny’s stomach clench in anticipation. 

“He’s being watched,” Jonny hears from above him. There’s two people descending the metal staircase above them, trying to speak covertly. “Agents. A van outside, at least two infiltrated the club.”

“Shit,” Jonny hisses, but Patrick is already crowding him up against the wall before he can get a word in edgewise. 

“Sorry about this,” Pat mutters, and shoves his lips onto Jonny’s. 

It’s a surprise, at first, but Jonny gets it. They’re hiding; no one likes watching people make out. The metal railing digs into his back as he cups Patrick’s jaw, kissing back as hard as he can to make the most of their position. 

“I don’t see anyone watching,” says the goon on the stairs. Patrick slips his tongue into Jonny’s mouth and if Jonny’s fingers sink into Pat’s hair, it’s only to keep up the illusion.

“Of course you don’t, you moron,” says the other goon. “You’re not trained for this. Look, it’s that guy over there.”

Jonny’s heart spikes for a moment but Patrick presses further into him, shoving his leg between Jonny’s thighs and deepening the kiss as much as possible. Jonny gets lost for a moment, maybe oxygen deprivation, and focuses only on keeping up with Patrick’s movements. 

Patrick makes a little noise into his mouth and Jonny sinks further into it, thrusting his hips against the hard line of Patrick’s thigh. 

“Fuckin’ hell. I thought this club was for normal people,” says one of the goons as he shoves past the two of them. Jonny resists the urge to flip him off and instead pushes his hands up the back of Patrick’s shirt, dragging his fingers along the muscles there. He hears a grunt of disgust from one of the goons but it only eggs him on further.

Eventually, though, the two henchman disappear into the crowd and they’re safe. Jonny lets Patrick kiss him a bit longer. He bites down on Patrick’s plush lower lip, swipes his tongue across it, and tucks his fingers just barely down the back of Patrick’s pants. He earns a tiny gasp for his effort. 

“I think they’re gone,” Patrick says, muffled by Jonny’s lips.

“Can’t be sure.” Jonny keeps the kiss going for a moment longer, then pulls back, eyes unfocused and body too hot. 

“We were made,” Patrick sighs, pushing back from Jonny. “We have to get out of here.”

Patrick takes the lead, because Jonny can’t quite catch up to his thoughts. He drags Jonny back to the table where he gives his apologies to the rest of the team. They’re all giving him knowing glances, a couple of jeers, and Jonny flushes with embarrassment as Patrick rewards them a wink. 

 

///

Jonny is cagey in the hotel room. Patrick is kicked back, reading an honest-to-God newspaper, his black-socked feet crossed at the ankles on top of the covers. He looks so relaxed that Jonny wishes he could mess him up. 

He can’t get the taste of Patrick out of his mouth. It’s like every time he catches a whiff of his shampoo or laundry soap, he’s transported right back to that moment that Patrick kissed him. It’s  _ distracting _ , and frankly, dangerous to the mission. Not to mention, Jonny keeps thinking, threatening his chances at making Special Agent. It’s an inappropriate infatuation. 

But, surprisingly, Patrick tones it down.

He keeps the PDA to a minimum, only touching Jonny’s wrist or back when he needs to speak with him privately. He only kisses him one more time in the next few months, a chaste, side-of-the-mouth kiss after a big win and a good locker room speech. That earns them a series of whoops and hollers from the boys, but no further action on Patrick’s part.

Jonny doesn’t get it. Even if he eggs Patrick on, pulls him into his lap, or runs his fingers through his hair, Patrick just smiles demurely and innocently edges away. The most he’ll do is be a warm line on Jonny’s side, and it’s driving him insane. 

It wouldn’t be such a big deal, but Jonny’s not putting up the points he’s supposed to be, and the Blackhawks  _ have _ to play enough games that Jonny can figure out who’s getting the Lady Byng and protect them. As of right now, it’s too tough of a call, too many potential candidates. The rumor mills start churning around February, people whispering  _ Karlsson  _ and  _ O’Reilly.  _ Jonny doesn’t know either of them that well, which doesn’t bode well for protecting them.

After another shitty game, Jonny throws his pads into his stall and all but falls onto the bench to take off his skates. Patrick is by him in a second to shove a water bottle into his hands and murmur into his ear. 

“You lost focus tonight,” he says softly, “you need to perform better if we’re going to learn anything.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Jonny shouts, loud enough that Patrick actually reels backward. The team all drop silent and look at them. 

“Dude,” Sharpy says, “that’s not cool.”

They’re all staring and Jonny’s face goes hot when he realizes they all think he just screamed at his boyfriend in the middle of the locker room. He sighs and rubs at his eye with the heel of his palm. 

“I’m sorry,” he says to the team, then to Patrick, “I’m sorry, babe.” Patrick seems to brighten at the nickname, but remains wary as Jonny turns to address the boys. “This isn’t how I want to perform. It’s not how any of us should be doing at this stage in the game. If we don’t focus up and - and try harder, we’re going to lose our chance.” 

There’s a smattering of muttered agreements. Jonny reaches out to take Patrick’s hand and thread their fingers together. 

“If we’re going to do this, we gotta work together. This isn’t about just one of us out there. We’re a team, right?” More quiet responses. “Right?” He says it more sharply this time, and the team seems to rise to the occasion. The Blackhawks captain takes over, then, riding Jonny’s momentum until they’re all standing and shouting, bumping chests, grabbing shoulders.

And Patrick is still holding Jonny’s hand.

///

“They’re going to think you’re gunning for the C,” Patrick jokes. He has Jonny’s equipment bag slung over his shoulder as they ride the elevator up to their apartment. Jonny snorts.

“Could you imagine? Can’t even follow a trail on this damn case.” 

“Hey,” Pat says, putting one hand on Jonny’s chest and pushing him up against the elevator wall. “I don’t want to hear you talking that way. Every day, we’re getting closer, and you’re making that happen.”

Jonny shakes his head. He doesn’t know how Patrick can believe that, after all the leads he’s dropped lately. Patrick’s hand goes up to his cheek, though, and he forces Jonny to look at him. 

“I’ve been on a lot of field missions, all right? You’re easily one of the most hard-working agents I’ve ever been partnered with. We’re gonna do this.” 

Jonny thinks about kissing him again. He wonders what it would be like to just lower his mouth to cover Pat’s, wrap his arms around him, try to absorb a modicum of that confidence he seems to have all the time. Jonny’s shoulders drop, ready to act on impulse, when the elevator doors open and Jonny jumps away. 

He clears his throat. “I, um, thanks, Agent.” 

“Special Agent,” Kane corrects. Jonny thwacks him in the back of the knees with the flat of his stick. 

“Fucking  _ ow _ , between that and yelling at me in the locker room, people are going to think you’re an abusive boyfriend.”

Jonny rolls his eyes and ushers Patrick into the apartment. When Patrick sets the equipment down in the foyer and stretches his arms above his head, there’s one more little moment; Patrick catches Jonny looking at his stomach where his shirt is riding up and Jonny looks away too slowly. He meets Patrick’s eyes and blinks, lips parting as if he has some kind of defense, but Patrick just smirks and walks into the other room. 

Jonny feels caught. He toes off his shoes and follows Patrick into the living room, where’s he’s already settled into the couch and pulled up Netflix. Jonny sits next to him and props his feet up on the table, prompting Patrick to shove them off. 

Somehow, that ends up with Jonny’s feet in Patrick’s lap, his thumb a solid pressure on the arch of his foot while they watch Planet Earth.

Jonny isn’t sure what’s part of the plan anymore.

///

The Blackhawks make the playoffs, and Patrick kisses Jonny in the locker room. 

Jonny’s swept up in it, the celebrating and the hugs and the singing, and when Patrick’s mouth finds his he doesn’t bother holding back. The kiss is deep like in the club, but they’re smiling, trading pecks and flicks of their tongues through grins they can’t wipe off their faces. Jonny’s all sweaty but Patrick doesn’t seem to mind. He’s rubbing his cheek against Jonny’s, laughing, and it’s easy to forget for a moment that it’s all for show. 

Patrick is affectionate and handsy for the rest of the night, but doesn’t cross any boundaries that a buddy wouldn’t cross. Jonny goes to bed itchy and unsatisfied, palm cupped over his inexplicable erection. 

///

The Blackhawks are knocked out by the Wild - The Wild! - in the second round.

Jonny holds his head in his hands when they’re back in the apartment, and Patrick rubs his back. 

“You did everything you could,” he says. “We’ll still get them.” 

“We didn’t learn anything.” 

“We learned enough,” Patrick says soothingly. “We have a lot of intel, we know more people - you’re going to get asked to present at the NHL awards, I know it. That gets us backstage without tipping anyone off.”

Jonny shakes his head. “But the team-”

“Fuckin’ loves you. They’re going to miss you like hell next year.” 

“I don’t know, Patrick, this all just seems wro-”

Patrick kisses him. It’s gentle, just a tilt of his chin and chaste, unmoving lips. It’s the first time they’ve ever done this alone, without the peering eyes of people they need to lie to, and it feels unbearably weighty. Jonny’s fingers clench into the front of Patrick’s t-shirt and he counts the breaths he feels fan across his skin. 

When they part, Patrick moves back slowly, as if he expects Jonny to maybe follow him. But Jonny is too frozen. His eyes are locked on Patrick’s face and his body feels like it’s been filled with cement. 

“Sorry,” Patrick says, “got a little caught up.”

“It’s cool.” Jonny waves him off. “It’s- it’s cool.” 

“We’ve been undercover too long,” Patrick says, a weak attempt at a joke. His hand is on Jonny’s knee. He starts to lean in again, but Jonny jerks backwards. 

“Stop.” His voice is quiet, but it sounds like a gunshot. Patrick’s hand pulls off his knee. “You know - that’s not how this works.” 

They’re blurring the lines too much. The job comes first, and they’ll never be able to do pull off the operation if they’re too distracted by each other. Once this is all over, they might- but right now, it’s just not a possibility. Thankfully, Patrick seems to understand, giving Jonny a firm nod. 

“Loud and clear, Toews,” he says, gives Jonny a tight smile, and turns on the television.

///

As expected, Jonny does get offered a presenter position at the NHL awards. They even ask if he has a preference, and he hopes he doesn’t answer too quickly when he claims the Lady Byng. 

“Karlsson fan, eh?” The guy on the other line chuckles. “The Knights sure did something special this year.”

Jonny swallows thickly. “That’s the winner, huh?”

“All signs point to yes. Lucky kid.” 

Jonny knocks on Patrick’s bedroom door after he hangs up with the coordinator, and doesn’t get an answer right away. “Patrick?”

“Just - one sec-”

“This is important.” Jonny rolls his eyes when he doesn’t get a response and shoves the door open. “Look, I know who the mark is - oh, fuck, holy shit- sorry!” 

Jonny yanks the door back shut and tries to pretend like he didn’t just catch Patrick with his hand in his boxers. He’d been shirtless on the bed, chest flushed pink, his hair all sleep-mussed. Jonny leans up against the door and tries to catch his breath.

But Patrick pulls the door open a moment later and Jonny falls back right into him, their limbs tangling as he tries to right himself. “Shit.”

“God damn it, Toews, when someone says ‘just a sec’ you should listen to them.” 

“Sorry,” Jonny mumbles, brushing himself off. “I just have some important briefings.”

“Yeah, yeah. Lead the way, I guess.”

///

“So, is the mark specifically Karlsson, or just the winner of the trophy?”

“At this point, it’s Karlsson, regardless of motive. We can’t do anything to tip off that we know about this, or they might get to him sooner.”

“We have to let them think their plan is on track.”

“Exactly. We get as close as possible and find out their exact plan, and put an end to it.”

“We have a month to prepare.”

Patrick nods. “We got this.”

“Yeah, we got this.” 

///

Jonny’s tugging on his suit in the full-length mirror. It feels small, especially with his weapons strapped underneath it at his ankles and hips. Something just doesn’t feel right about it. 

“Lookin’ snazzy, Toews,” Kane says. He’s fastening his cufflinks and tucking a gun into the back of his pants, right where Jonny’s fingers had been a few months earlier when they danced together at the club. Jonny shakes his head to rid himself of the image and offers Kane a smirk. 

“Yeah?”

“Total boyfriend material.” Kane socks him on the shoulder. “You ready to slut it up for the cameras?”

Jonny rolls his eyes. “It doesn’t have to be like that,” he says. Kane’s smile falters for a moment, but it’s back in full force in just a second. 

“We can’t let on that anything is different.” Kane reaches from behind him to straighten Jonny’s tie. “So, you’d better love up on me, Toews. Don’t worry, this will be the last time.” 

Something about that makes Jonny’s whole body ache. 

He sighs and fixes his tie – Kane completely ruined it –and turns on his recorder watch. “Toews to dispatch.”

“Heard,” says a tiny voice in his ear. “Repeat code.” 

“One-nine-eight-eight,” Patrick says into his microphone. 

“Code confirmed. Agents, are you prepared?”

Patrick shrugs. “Sure.” 

Jonny glares at him. “ _ Yes _ .” 

///

“What the hell happened out there?” The Deputy Director asks. 

Turns out, they weren’t as ready as they thought.

Jonny’s slumped in his chair much like Patrick, ash still stained across his cheek. His suit, ripped at the shoulder, flaps in the slight breeze from the air conditioner. Patrick’s not doing much better, bloodied knuckles and scraped knees, arms crossed tightly across his chest. 

“The mark is safe, isn’t that what matters?” Patrick asks a bit shortly. Jonny laughs, honest and loud, and the Director glares at him. 

“Do you think this is funny?”

“Kind of,” Jonny admits. Patrick shoots him an impressed look. Jonny feels powerful. 

Patrick leans forward in his chair. “Look, sir. Sure, we blew up a part of the Vegas Hard Rock. How were we supposed to know the bomb was hidden  _ in _ the trophy?”

“Because it was your  _ job _ to know, Agents!” 

Jonny purses his lips. “We figured everything out. Just not all the details.”

“The details destroyed a Las Vegas landmark!”

“With all due respect, sir, we saved the mark  _ and _ caught all the terrorists,” Patrick says, shoving his hair back. Some dust and rubble falls to the carpet. 

“Due respect,  _ Agent _ , your backup saved both of your asses.”

“Which taught our probationary agent here the vital importance of having men on the outside,” Patrick says coolly. 

The Deputy Director stares at them both a moment longer, then shakes his head. “I need a night to sleep on this. Debriefs tomorrow. You’re both dismissed.” 

“I’m fired as hell, aren’t I,” Jonny asks when they get back to his desk. Patrick shrugs. 

“You could always be a NHL center.” 

Jonny throws his briefcase at him. 

“Drinks tonight,” says Patrick, “on me. Go home and get changed, shower, whatever. I’ll meet you at Elsie’s at…” 

“It’s after midnight, Patrick.”

“Two. Meet me there at two.”

“I’m exhausted,” Jonny argues, but Patrick is already waving him off on his way out the door. 

///

“And then the way Crosby ran,” Patrick is laughing through tears, “right over all the chairs, I thought he was gonna fall and break his neck.”

“Sullivan would have had an aneurysm.” Jonny takes a long swig of his beer and tries not to focus on how Patrick’s leg is jiggling right next to his.

They kind of tipsy, grateful that Elsie’s is open nice and late. They trade stories, repeat some, laugh about more. Patrick is wearing this loose t-shirt, and when he leans forward to clap his hand down on Jonny’s shoulder, his collarbones are all exposed and Jonny can’t stop looking at them.

“Hey,” Jonny says after his third beer, “you were my first dude-kiss.” He holds out his bottle to get a cheers from Patrick. 

“You weren’t mine,” Patrick says proudly. He clinks his bottle on Jonny’s anyway. “But I’m always happy to be someone’s first.” 

Jonny blinks at him. “For real? You - you’ve-”

“Yes, Jonny, Jesus. It’s not a big deal. Has anyone ever told you you’re a total drama queen?”

“I am not,” Jonny protests. Before he realizes what’s happening, Patrick is all up in his space planting a kiss square on his lips. Jonny reels backward and almost falls off his bar stool. Patrick starts laughing, eyes crinkling at the sides. 

“See? Drama.” 

“I’ll show you drama,” Jonny growls, putting his hands on either side of Patrick’s cheeks and dragging him into a deep, unfettered kiss that he feels right down to the soles of his feet. Despite his surprised noise, Patrick doesn’t hesitate in his response, sliding his tongue into Jonny’s mouth like he’s been invited, like he can just  _ do _ that, and Jonny realizes he can. They make out like that until the bartender puts down their next round a little heavily, startling them out of it. 

“Oh,” Patrick says. “I thought this, uh. Wasn’t going to work.”

“I don’t know if it will,” Jonny admits. He rubs his thumb along Patrick’s jaw. “What I do know is I want to get you off.” 

“Christ. Where is this coming from, Jonny?”

“Now this can be, uh,” Jonny stumbles, “none of that - none of the lies, the cover, whatever. All that had to be over, first. So I could know.” 

Patrick punches his arm. “Why couldn’t you just say that last month, you fucking idiot?” He raps his knuckles on the bar. “Check!”

///

Having Patrick naked underneath him isn’t as unsettling as Jonny had initially expected. It’s hard to focus on being uncomfortable when their dicks are dragging up against each other, sliding in the slickness of lube and sweat between them. Patrick’s mouth is ever present; either on Jonny’s throat or jaw or lips while his hands roam the planes of Jonny’s hips.

“You have the best ass,” Patrick says into his ear. “All those hockey drills, shit.” He squeezes one cheek and Jonny grunts, hips jerking forward. He’s not used to being touched like this. The confidence and strength is completely unfamiliar to him, and each time Pat’s stubble brushes his skin, he feels a hook behind his navel that tugs him closer. 

Jonny’s on top of Pat, at least, a familiar enough position for him. Patrick’s knees knock along Jonny’s hip bones while they grind together and it’s a welcome sting, a reminder that Jonny is  _ here _ doing  _ this _ with  _ Patrick _ and he can’t escape from it.

Not that he wants to. Not anymore.

“I didn’t know it could be like this,” Jonny says when Patrick swipes his tongue across his nipple. 

“Mm, and what’s that,” Patrick says breathily, “hot? Easy?”

“Real,” Jonny concludes. Patrick stares at him for a moment before burying his head in Jonny’s chest, shoving his hips upward into Jonny’s to get more friction between them. Jonny ducks down to catch Patrick’s mouth, kissing him deep and firm. “Remember when I caught you jerking off?”

“Yeah,” Patrick says, ears pink.

“Tell me what you were thinking about.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Really?” Jonny fits a hand between them to rubs at the silky head of Patrick’s dick. “That much already, huh?”

“I hate you,” Patrick says, but it’s on a gasp because Jonny has started rubbing at his balls. “No, I was just - when you’re on the ice, you’re so confident, and- uh, fuck- you had a really great goal that night. It was sexy, okay?”

“Mm.” Jonny flicks his tongue against Patrick’s bottom lip. “You think so?”

“Shut up,” Patrick says, “and make me come.” 

Jonny laughs into Patrick’s neck and does just as he’s been asked.

///

Sharpy calls Jonny up a month later and gives him an earful. 

“Not only did you lie about like, everything, but you jeopardized the team!”

“I put up twenty goals,” Jonny protests.

“All of which have been expunged,” Sharpy grumbles. “I’m surprised they’re not scrapping the whole season.”

Jonny sighs. “I was legitimate. I was just moonlighting.” 

“As a fucking FBI agent, holy shit. That’s the coolest thing in the world, and you didn’t tell me. That whole thing with Kane being your partner, Jesus, I’m an idiot.” 

Jonny smirks. Someday he’ll tell Sharpy that his little misunderstanding was a blessing in disguise, but right now, he doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction. “Yeah, you are. Totally almost botched the whole operation.”

A beat of silence passes. “Look, Toews. We all owe you. You probably saved a lot of lives that day.” 

“Don’t get soft on me now, Sharpy.” 

“Yeah, fuck you.”

“Get me season tickets next year and we’ll call it even.”

“You got box seats and you know it. Bye, Toes. Don’t get killed.” 

Patrick steps out of the bathroom, a towel loose around his hips while he shakes the water out of his hair. His chest is splotched pink from the shower. Jonny tucks his fingers into the knot of the towel and tugs Patrick closer. 

“Who was that?” Pat asks as Jonny presses his mouth to the warmed skin of Patrick’s stomach.

“Sharpy. Wanted to berate me for lying to all of them, ended up thanking me.” 

“Get used to that.” Patrick’s fingers card through Jonny’s hair. “No one ever knows how to treat you after a job. They’re all grateful and full of betrayal at the same time.”

Jonny hums into Patrick’s hip and continues to drag his lips along the curve of his muscles. He might get carried away, because the next thing he knows Patrick is pushing him back and crawling up over his hips. 

“I just got out of the shower.” 

“See, it sounds like you’re complaining,” Jonny says. He strokes a hand up the back of Patrick’s thigh, under the towel, and over the curve of his ass. “But I don’t see you going anywhere.”

Patrick rolls his eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

It’s still new to Jonny, being able to kiss Patrick whenever he wants to. He tries to take full advantage of it whenever he can. Now, for example. 

“Mm, we’re going to be late to your ceremony, Agent Toews.”

“ _ Special _ Agent Toews.” Jonny grins and knees at Patrick’s hips until he gets enough leverage to roll them over. “Let’s make them wait.” 

“Dirty cop,” Patrick admonishes, but his legs spread under Jonny’s regardless.

“You have no idea, babe.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Please join me on [Tumblr!](http://hatrickane.tumblr.com)
> 
> Thank you to the Reel_1988 organizers for another great fest!


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